But alive.
For now.
A moment ago, she had watched one of the enemy stalk forward, his gaze fixed on the book hugged to her chest. Then a sudden gunshot made her jump, as it did with the others. The only one not to respond was Russo. She had lost so much blood that she hung limp in Laurent’s arms. Already in shock and pain, the earlier blast had knocked her into a slack-necked daze.
“What’s going on?” Duncan whispered, or at least it sounded that way to her dampened ears.
She shook her head, but she remembered Laurent mentioning the friction between various factions within theConfrérie.
Is that what we’re witnessing?
She struggled to think of a way to turn this to her advantage, but she could come up with nothing. Especially with a dozen soldiers crowded in here. All with rifles leveled at their group. Their own weapons—a meager mix of pistols and one shotgun—lay out of reach on the floor.
She was not the only one frustrated.
The man who had been shot shoved around and turned his fury upon the figure at the shooter’s side. This one wore a silver crucifix around his neck, resting over his coat, as if boasting of his rank for all to see.
“Cardinal Tissot,” the injured man spat, clearly knowing who to blame. “What the hell are you doing? Are you mad?”
“Not mad,HerrMarchand, simply practical.” A hand waved to the splendor in the room. “This is my birthright.”
The man on the ground looked baffled.
The cardinal explained, “It was my father who was instrumental in securing the Solomon coins out of Libya.”
“Which your father lost to the Nazis.”
Tissot cocked his head. “Did he? Or did my father make it seem so? I understand it was very confusing at the end of the war.”
These words clearly stunned Marchand.
Even Laurent cursed at the implication. “The bastard’s father must’ve stolen the treasure from his own group, kept it for himself.”
“The coins were melted down,” the cardinal continued. “Then spread across Swiss banks, under various aliases and shells, all with the cooperation of my father’s allies.”
Marchand turned to the other man flanking the shooter. “Captain Ferhat, you went along with this betrayal? Why? You’ve been my man for over a decade.”
Ferhat simply shrugged.
Tissot nodded to the captain. “He was never yourman—only yourmercenary. A soldier offortune. For such men, it is gold that buys loyalty. And the more gold, the more loyalty.”
Marchand looked agog at all of this. It took him a long sputtering moment before he could speak. “So, you orchestrated this betrayal... all to steal more gold?”
“Nein. Do you truly think so little of me? Gold is always useful.” He lifted an arm to the wonders here. “I intend to melt it all down to aid our cause.”
Sharyn quailed at this plan, knowing what would be lost. The archaeological, historical, and religious importance of this treasure far surpassed its weight in gold.
Marchand scowled at the cardinal. “What fucking cause?”
“The same as yours,mein Freund. I’ve not wavered in my commitment to securing and deciphering Saint-Germain’s text. In fact, I went through great efforts to make sure it happens. I spent years cultivating contacts, buying access, until I was able to do something the Brotherhood had failed to do since its founding.”
“Which is what?”
“To recognize the value of cooperation. To pool together the knowledge of theGardienswith the resources of theConfrérie.” Cardinal Tissot motioned to the shooter. “I only had to find a like-minded soul.”
The shooter stepped forward, separating from the two men. He holstered his pistol, reached up, and removed his helmet. Then with a little tugging, he pulled away the concealing balaclava.
Marchand gasped, falling back.
